No Refunds or Exchanges
by Vitawash
Summary: For LJ's Cuddy fest prompt #122: Cuddy tries once again to give House a present for his birthday. Mild House/Cuddy, but nothing major. Set in S3.


House remembered that once upon a time, he'd been able to make his staff cower with a glare. Today they were sitting around, arguing about the symptoms on the whiteboard as if House wasn't even in the office. They were also studiously ignoring that today was the day on which House had blessed the world with his presence. Even Cameron had failed to produce so much as a card this year (and House was not going to admit that he found that just a tiny bit disappointing, if only because he didn't get to bitch about it). Wilson had said something about coming by to make dinner, strategically speaking around the potential birthday, but particularly mentioning House's favorite pasta puttanesca.

So he groused, and he railed at his team about the case. Then Cuddy stopped by to drag him down to the dungeons of clinic duty. A sprained ankle and a couple of snotty kids later, House plugged in his IPod and disappeared into Exam Room Three for a break.

"Dr. House?" He didn't recognize the tall brunette woman stepping into the room, although she wore a medical student's short lab coat. "Hi. Dr. Cuddy sent me."

"Are you serving papers? Because I haven't killed anyone lately," House replied, and the young woman blanched. At least House thought she would have, if she hadn't belonged to the Dynasty school of makeup application, which was odd, since House was pretty certain this girl couldn't remember the 80s. The overdone makeup matched the strangeness of her wardrobe – Cuddy would have hesitated to wear a skirt that short to the hospital.

Mind you, Cuddy might wear it. But she'd definitely hesitate first.

"No. Dr. Cuddy thought I might have something to offer you," She said with a smile. House noticed that makeup and the skirt wasn't her only sartorial issue. Her shirt was far too tight, even by Cuddy standards, and...my God, was that her bra sticking out of the top?

And how had he not noticed that first? He really was getting old.

"What are they teaching in medical school nowadays? Communicating with your patients via your breasts?" House leered purposefully in her direction. To his surprise, she didn't look particularly disgusted by that.

"Something like that. I'm Misty, by the way," she said, fingers playing along the lapels of her coat. "What are you listening to?" She plucked the earbuds from his hands and smiled alluringly. She listened for a moment and then the smile disappeared. "Seriously? Neil Diamond?"

"There is no shame in listening to 'Sweet Caroline,'" House snapped, and snatched the earbuds away. "Clearly, Cuddy wants me back on duty, so I guess I'll avoid further irritation by doing just that."

He limped out the door, not stopping to wonder why Misty looked so confused when he left.

After lunch (half his own, half stolen fries from Wilson, who didn't need the carbs anyway), he settled into his office with the blinds drawn for a little siesta. Really, Spain would have operated on his ideal schedule – long lunch, a nap, and dinner at nine. Regrettably, the country was low on monster trucks, although they did have guitars _and_ idiots chased by bulls.

House had only closed his eyes for a few minutes when he heard the soft hiss of his office door. He expected that it was Cameron or Foreman, bearing news about the patient (Chase certainly wasn't going to bother him during his nap), but instead, he opened his eyes to Misty towering over him. Towering indeed, because somehow he'd missed the ridiculous shoes the first time, far too high for any doctor, and again, even Cuddy might have thought twice before wearing those to work. Of course, if Cuddy stood about 5'9", she probably wouldn't have deigned to wear those killer heels to work – something modest would put her right at Wilson's eye level.

"Taking another break, Dr. House?" She asked breathily, and House wondered what planet the med school was getting their students from these days. It probably featured green-skinned slave girls.

"Cuddy's got too much to do to harangue me herself?" House retorted.

"Dr. Cuddy's very busy. A little too busy to take care of this." Misty perched on the edge of House's desk, crossing her long legs. "Do you have any music in here?"

House flipped on some blues on the stereo. The song was a little more suited to a Saturday night and a couple of beers than a sunny afternoon at the office, but clearly that wasn't bothering his visitor. "Nice," Misty said throatily. She hopped off the desk and started wandering around, her hips swaying sensuously to the music. And that was more than a little strange, in House's view.

"What exactly are you studying with Dr. Cuddy, anyway? Other than trading fashion tips?"

Misty giggled. "Oh, you know. Management." Just then, she locked the door connecting the conference room to his office, setting off a five-alarm "Danger! Will Robinson!" in House's head. Fortunately, the kids chose that exact moment to page House to the patient's room, and for once, he was off like a shot...well, more like the Blob, really, slow and ambling, but it would get him away from the crazy, and that was all he needed right now.

"We'll have to chat later," House said over his shoulder, leaving a slightly perturbed-looking medical student in his office.

Two hours later, the patient was recovering nicely and Chase and Cameron weren't speaking, and that was going to be fun in the morning. House peered into his office and found it Misty-free. Maybe she'd given up at last.

House settled into his desk and pulled five pieces of paperwork at random from his inbox. Signing them out of order kept Cameron on her toes (or brought her inches closer to strangling him, he never could tell those two things apart). With that task over for the day, House put his feet up on the desk, turned on his music, and relaxed. He heard the bluesy song that had inspired Misty to start wriggling all over the place, and started imagining some innovative ways for Misty to make up for her failure to Cuddy (although he wasn't entirely sure how she had failed). Most of them involved Cuddy's desk and whipped cream stolen from the cafeteria.

House also decided this would be more fun if he shared these possibilities with Wilson. It was fun watching him squirm uncomfortably...and occasionally offer a suggestion for what nifty thing, exactly, Cuddy could do with a paperweight. House crossed the balcony and strode into Wilson's patient-less office.

"Get this," House said, "Cuddy has this...I don't know, intern, or something."

"Yeah. We've met," Wilson replied dryly. He gestured with his chin towards his couch, where the succubus-in-training herself was perched as primly as a woman with a barely extant skirt could be.

"There you are," she said brightly. "I've been looking all over for you."

"I'll bet you have," House said with a sneer. "Bonus points for sussing out Wilson – this doctor thing is obviously not going to work out for you, and he'll need a new wife soon."

"What?!" Misty's eyes narrowed. "Dr. Cuddy suggested you'd stop by. Dr. Wilson seemed nice, so I thought I'd wait for you here. Two for the price of one, but I don't mind."

House had no idea what she was talking about anymore, but he had no desire to find out. "You know, the 17 year-old stalker had a certain naïve charm. You? Not so much."

"House, I don't think you're getting it..." Wilson began, but House had decided he wasn't listening anymore.

"This is nuts, Wilson, and I can't believe you're helping." House lurched out of Wilson's office and headed for the elevator, slamming and locking Wilson's door behind him. He slid onto a crowded car just as Misty was making her way out, and pressed the button to get to Cuddy's office.

The queen of darkness herself was signing off on files at the nurses' desk when House shoved his way out of the elevator.

"Cuddy, about your little apprentice," House said, putting on his best glower for the conversation. Just as Cuddy looked up from her paperwork, however, Misty skittered up beside him, half out of breath from having taken the stairs. House realized that she wasn't paying any attention to him. Instead, she was looking squarely at Cuddy.

"You know what? Forget it! I have NEVER had to work this hard! This is ridiculous! I don't care how much you're paying, Lisa, I am so out of here." With an extra huff, Misty turned on her stiletto heel and stalked off.

House's head swiveled curiously in Cuddy's direction. "Paying?"

"For nothing, apparently." Cuddy shuffled the files in her hand into a neat pile, then smiled smugly at him. "I mean, really, House, I thought you liked strippers."

House followed her to her office, where she settled into her executive chair and started checking her email like he wasn't standing there. This couldn't be true. Although maybe it was true, because Misty was annoying, and being naked - or nearly naked - made up for a lot of annoying. Which might, in fact, explain a great deal about Cuddy herself.

"You. Bought me a stripper. For real?"

"Strip-o-gram, actually. She doesn't take off as much as a real stripper. You're turning fifty, House. I thought a celebration of the fact that your liver hasn't thrown up a white flag yet was in order." Cuddy stopped clicking her mouse and smiled sardonically. "Did you seriously think she was a medical student, House?"

"It's not like I asked her to confer on the differential." House frowned. "Too bad she's not, though. Great legs."

"Which as we know, are so helpful in the treatment of one's patients."

"Those legs would give a man a reason to live," House deadpanned. Cuddy shook her head and turned to signing off on the extensive pile of paperwork on her desk, piece by orderly piece. House waited, considering whether or not he had any further options.

"Are we done?" she asked, when House failed to vacate her office.

"You owe me clothing removal," he complained.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. "I most certainly do not. You returned your gift, House. Not my problem." She turned back to her computer, as if to inform him that she was finished with the conversation.

"But..." House began, even though Cuddy's logic seemed perfectly sound. Then he thought of an angle. "Clearly, you hired Misty to act out some unfulfilled fantasy of your own." Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Cuddy, the little skirt, the heels, the long brown hair, the lab coat, all that excessive cleavage."

The eyebrow dropped dramatically, and Cuddy glared fiercely in his direction. "You have a thing for brunettes and she picked out her own outfit. I don't even know where she got the coat. End of story, House. I never even met her until this morning."

"Right. And she just happened to have blue eyes, too. Now's your chance, Cuddy. It is my birthday, after all. We can close the blinds and you can get down to business."

"If she represents me, and you didn't want her to strip for you, then obviously you don't want me to strip for you, either." Cuddy smiled, and stretched out her own lovely legs on the edge of her desk.

"Good night, House." And she gave him a little wave.

_Monster_, he thought. _Monster queen. Imperial ruler of her own little island of monsters, where Godzilla had to take dictation._ That's what she was.

And he was completely flummoxed, because everything in his brain suggested that Cuddy owed him at least a flash, but the logic was plainly not working out in his favor.

"I'll...I'll get you for this...or something," he said, and hobbled out of her office.

Cuddy might have covered her mouth and giggled. He couldn't be sure.


End file.
